


The Sky is Falling

by Wind_Ryder



Series: It's Just Not The Same [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Canon Typical Violence, Depression, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Puppies, Recovery, Trauma, brain damaged character, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 14:06:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2194593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been a close call on the train, but Steve had pulled Bucky back from the jaws of death and held him close until they were both certain the worst was over. Later, Steve wondered if it would have been kinder for Bucky to die there, than face the fate Steve had dragged him into. </p><p>He weighed the price of his and Bucky's lives against the lives of millions of New Yorkers, and he pitched the plane into the water. He was ready to kill them both in order to do the right thing. </p><p>He wasn't ready for the alternative: they both survived the crash and are now living in a future that doesn't make sense. The world is different now, and everyone they know and love had either moved on or died long ago. That, and Bucky didn't survive the crash unscathed. The doctors said he was brain damaged, and he'd never be the same again. </p><p>Falling from the train may have been kinder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sky is Falling

**Author's Note:**

> This story is an AU based around the premise that Bucky never fell from the train. 
> 
> It has been beta read by: RavenclawinStarfleet who can be found at: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ravenclawinstarfleet 
> 
> and Averageaqua.
> 
> All mistakes are mine, please feel free to point them out if you see them.

The Sky is Falling:

 

The explosion threw them apart. Steve went one way, Bucky the other. Steve ducked and rolled, stumbling to his feet as he tried to see what exactly had happened. Schmidt had been holding the Tesseract, and then…and then…blue coated everything. The world fell quiet. Steve whipped his head to the left. “Bucky!” His friend was huddled on the ground, limp and unmoving. “Bucky!” The wind carried his voice away. He stumbled to his feet and tried to get closer, but his legs were weak. He tripped, pushed himself up again, and tripped again. The third time, he finally managed to get to Bucky’s side once more.

 

Bucky’s head was split open. He’d cracked it solidly against a metal support post. Steve rolled him onto his back and pressed a hand to his throat. “Bucky? Bucky come on, wake up.” The plane jolted and Steve looked around them. It wouldn’t matter if Bucky woke up if they were going to crash only a few minutes later. Pushing away from his friend’s side, he made it to the console. He flicked on the communication system and called back to base, knowing that his team would have secured the radio tower by now.

 

He was right. Peggy was there. His eyes scanned across the systems, and he stared at the monitor that was telling him that they were either going to make it to New York and kill everyone, or the plane needed to be destroyed. The landing gears were broken. He’d never be able to pull off a belly landing – he wasn’t a pilot. His eyes snapped back to Bucky. His friend was still unconscious, leaning against the side of the plane blissfully unaware of what was happening around him.

 

“I have to put it in the water,” he realized quietly. He had to crash the plane. It was the only way to save the innocent lives this plane would destroy. It would kill them both, but they’d save millions in the process. He clenched his hands around the controls. Peggy was trying to talk him down. Sweet, beautiful, wonderful Peggy was on the other end of that line, and Steve listened to her speak and tried to imagine the future they should have had. She didn’t ask about Bucky. She knew as well as he did what he was choosing for them both. He was going to kill his best friend with this move. Steve would die,Bucky would die, and millions of New Yorkers would be saved because of it.

 

He pitched the plane down. Peggy was talking to him. They dreamed of dancing together, dreamed of meeting up and finally pressing their bodies close. His lips tingled in recollection of the one kiss that they had shared. His chest burned in agony when the line cut out and she stopped responding to his calls.

 

Warning lights flashed all around him. He looked towards Bucky one final time. His friend, his brother’s eyes were slowly starting to open. He was blinking groggily around him, and Steve felt his heart break in his chest. Their eyes met, and Steve threw himself from the console. He took hold of Bucky’s body and wrapped his limbs around him.

 

“Bucky?” he asked, cradling Bucky’s head to his chest. Just seconds left, seconds until the end. “Bucky-it’s Steve.” Bucky squinted up at him, mouth shuddering around the word. “Yeah-yeah, it’s Steve. I-I’m sorry. I’m so-” He never finished.

 

The force threw them backwards. Sound exploded around them as the plane dissolved into pieces. They sailed through the air, striking something solid and impenetrable. Steve’s arms and legs wrapped around Bucky and held him close. They’d die together, just like their mothers always said they would. Pain splashed through Steve’s senses. He heard Bucky let out a strangled noise, and then everything went dark.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Seventy years was a long time to sleep, and when Steve woke up, he barely believed it was true. Things like that just didn’t happen to people. They just didn’t. But he was alive, and so was Bucky, and it was 2010.

 

Steve’s thoughts went to Peggy, and he wondered if she’d gone to that dance hall and waited for a dance she’d never get. He wondered how long she waited before she moved on. He wondered…he wondered.

 

And then, just as soon as he started to reel from the news that everything was different now, they came in with the rest of it.

 

Brain damaged.

 

The words and their meanings slipped through Steve’s consciousness and flooded through his body. They gripped his heart in a vice and chained it tight. His lungs inhaled and exhaled appropriately, filling his body with air, and yet he knew that was wrong. He couldn’t breathe. His legs gave out underneath him and he sank heavily into the chair beside Bucky’s bed.

 

His friend was awake, sitting upright and looking about the room with open curiosity. His eyes were wide and interested in every trick of the light, every flash of color, and every morphing shadow that dipped across the walls. He wasn’t focusing on anything, preferring instead to stare at the whole expanse of the room around him with wonder.

 

Steve wouldn’t have found that strange on its own. Bucky was naturally curious, though he tempered that with surprising wisdom for his age. He calculated and assessed the risks to his curiosity, rather than plowing forwards and seeing what happened. But his harmless observing wasn’t the only affect to coat Bucky’s features. He wasn’t speaking, he didn’t seem to understand questions that were asked of him, and his attention wasn’t just morphing: it was inconsistent to the extreme. He would either be fixated on one thing, or he would change his object of fascination in rapid succession.

 

“You said that he had a head injury prior to the crash?” asked the doctor who’d been examining Bucky. Steve nodded. He didn’t know if he could bring himself to speak. “It’s possible that the injury was compounded during the freezing process. And again, for a normal human survival wouldn’t have been possible in the first place. I’d really like to run some tests-”

 

“No.” They’d wanted to run tests on Bucky since the moment they found him alive. Steve didn’t care how Bucky survived the crash. He didn’t care how he came to be sitting with them now, he only cared that Bucky had survived. He’d survived, he was very much alive, and he wasn’t going to be turned into a lab rat just to satisfy the twenty-first century’s medical curiosity. They’d drawn countless pints of blood already, claiming they needed to verify that his platelets were responding appropriately or something or other. Enough was enough.

 

“Well...if you’re sure.” The doctor looked anything but happy at the decision, but he knew better than to press his luck. Steve wasn’t going to allow a single person to so much as look at Bucky if they registered as a threat. Especially when Bucky obviously wasn’t capable of defending himself.

 

A shadow fluttered past the window and Bucky’s head whipped around to watch it. Steve followed his gaze. A pigeon had perched on the sill and was busy tending to its feathers.  Bucky’s eyes widened in fascination as he shifted off the bed and wandered towards the window. The pigeon, in typical New York fashion, ignored him completely. It went about picking at its feathers, grooming itself back into its preferred appearance. Light reflected off its purple and green neck, forming a slight rainbow that danced across its body. Bucky’s mouth fell open and he looked like he’d never seen anything more beautiful in all his life.

 

As far as Steve knew, he may not have. Bucky showed no signs of remembering anything at all about his time before the crash. The pigeon was the first bird he’d seen since waking up, and clearly it was fascinating. Bucky reached out a hand and tapped Steve’s arm repetitively. His fingers eventually gripped his shirtsleeve and tugged on it until Steve moved close enough for Bucky’s satisfaction. Bucky jabbed his hand towards the glass in front of him and gestured towards the bird insistently.

 

“It’s a pigeon, Buck,” Steve said helplessly. He had no idea if that was what he should have said, but Bucky beamed up at him as though he’d given him the world. He turned his full attention back to the pigeon and didn’t shift his gaze again. Steve looked back at the doctor. “Can you fix it?” he asked. He already knew the answer.

 

“The few scans we were allowed to make showed extensive damage to the cognitive functions of his brain,” the doctor replied. He glanced down at his notebook and adjusted his glasses. “At this point, I’m amazed he is even functioning as well as he is. I could not possibly recommend a way to completely reverse the effects. Management on the other hand-”

 

“Bucky doesn’t need to be managed!” Steve snapped. At his side, his friend flinched away at the tone. He jumped back and stared at Steve with wide eyes, his pigeon-induced-euphoria sapping away in a dreary instant. He looked frightened, and Steve couldn’t help the feeling of horror that rattled through his bones. “I’m sorry.” He apologized, though to whom he didn’t specify. Bucky bit his lip and reached out to touch Steve’s arm. He tugged Steve’s shirt and motioned back towards the pigeon. It was staring at them now, and Steve had to force himself to take a few calming breaths. “It’s just a pigeon, Buck.” He said quietly.

 

Bucky nodded, smiling once more and gesturing to the bird again. The bird, likely deciding that the humans were an inconvenient distraction, responded by turning and flying away. Bucky’s face morphed into shock and he released Steve’s sleeve to press against the window. He made a sound of distressed agitation and knocked against the glass. He whined fretfully and turned back to Steve in desperation. He motioned at the window again, and Steve didn’t have any idea what he was meant to do.

 

“I can recommend the names of a few behavioral analysts and psychologists who can help you acclimate to the new world,” the doctor continued, talking over Bucky’s noises of increased distress. “As for your companion...”

 

“His name is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, and he’s a hero,” Steve snapped angrily. Bucky whined louder, and tugged on Steve’s arm with hard pulls that made his skin tingle and muscles ache.

 

“I understand that…I apologize,” the doctor said placatingly. “There are professionals who can give Sergeant Barnes a comfortable atmosphere to-”

 

“He’s not going in a nut house,” Steve hissed. Bucky jerked his arm painfully and he looked at him. “What?” Bucky waved to the window but the bird hadn’t returned. “I don’t know where it went.” Bucky waved again and again, ignoring what he was saying and just repeating the action over and over. “Bucky. Bucky. Bucky-I-knock it off!”

 

He hadn’t meant to yell. He hadn’t. The stress and the chaos of the day, hell, their week had taken its toll. He honestly hadn’t meant to yell, but now that he had, he couldn’t take it back. Bucky recoiled like he’d been physically struck. His eyes filled with tears and he bit his lip even harder than before. He stumbled backwards and sank to the floor.

 

“Oh-oh Bucky, no. That’s not what I-I’m sorry I-” Steve knelt before him. He reached out and pulled him close, tucking his head over Bucky’s skull and wrapping his arms around him. Bucky shivered between his arms and cried the whole while. He sucked in breath after breath of air and Steve rubbed his back desperately. He hadn’t made Bucky cry since that time in fourth grade when he’d accidentally broken his nose at a birthday party. “I’m so sorry.” And this time he wasn’t apologizing for yelling. He hadn’t thought they’d make it through. He hadn’t thought they’d survive the crash. He’d weighed the fate of millions of people against their lives and he chose to save the greater number. Bucky hadn’t had a choice in the matter, and when Steve had set the plane into a nosedive, he hadn’t considered the consequences beyond death.

 

Bucky was his friend, his brother, his responsibility. He’d made a choice, and it had been the right choice, but it was Bucky who was suffering for it. He shouldn’t have yelled at him. Steve clung to Bucky’s trembling body and felt his own tears starting to form. “I’ll take you to the park. There’s lots of pigeons there, remember? And we can get some bread, and find some ducks too if you like. You want to see the pigeons? I’ll find you some pigeons.” There was a flap of wings at the window, and Bucky twisted in his arms, tears forgotten as a new set of birds paused in their afternoon flight.

 

Snot and tears were still sliding down his face, but his mouth twisted up in an awestruck smile as he stared adoringly at the small creatures. Steve felt his head ache painfully as he watched the transformation. He turned to look at the doctor and pressed his lips together. “Leave us alone.” He requested tightly. For once, the man didn’t protest. He just nodded his head and left them. Steve sat with his back against the wall, Bucky kneeling beside him, and let his brain turn numb in his mind.

 

To him, it had been only a few days since Bucky and he were celebrating Zola’s capture with the rest of their unit. Now, everyone they knew was dead, the war was over, seventy years had passed, and Bucky’s thoughts were turned strictly towards the fascinating lives and appearances of pigeons. Steve drew his knees up to his chest and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.

 

All he had wanted was for the war to be over and to go back home to Brooklyn. Well. He got that. His mother always said that God had a funny sense of humor. Steve should have been more specific in his prayers.

 

He knew that now.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

He was given a wallet full of cash and an apartment in Manhattan. He didn’t complain about the move from his old neighborhood. He and Bucky took a ride back to where they used to live, and found that the building had been condemned and knocked over some twenty years ago. A swanky looking complex stood in its place, and none of the street corners looked the same. It hurt to stand on his old street, Bucky at his side, and have it all be so different.

 

When he was offered Manhattan, he took it. He had nothing left to lose. Bucky followed him like a duckling, making low noises of distress whenever Steve left his side for too long. Bucky’s actions during the day were simple. He stared at everything with his too wide eyes and his mouth always shaped in a small ‘o’ of surprise. He pressed his face to the window of every vehicle and building he was in. He shook Steve’s arm whenever he found something particularly exciting, and he wove towards it insistently until Steve gave him the correct response.

 

It took Steve a few days to realize that Bucky’s seemingly simple train of thought wasn’t as vapid as he originally suspected. Bucky found the world around him to be unbearably exciting, but there were some things that simply weren’t of interest at all to him. He only shared what he found to be beyond compare, and Steve quickly made a mental note to keep track of everything that Bucky liked now.

 

Pigeons were definitely at the top of his list, though Steve soon realized all birds trapped his focus. He had been nearly incandescent with glee when Steve brought him to Central Park. The ducks had captivated him utterly, and Steve kept true to his promise on feeding them. They stood side by side and fed the ducks together, and Bucky’s delight was so obvious that it made some of the pain of his friend’s mindset lessen just a touch. Steve smiled with him, laughing quietly when Bucky crouched down to let the birds pick at the bread from his palm.

 

When they were finished, Steve led Bucky home and his friend held onto his hand the whole way. At first, the feeling of their palms together felt so bizarre. They’d never held hands before. Their contact had always been friendly, an arm around each other’s shoulders, a hug when emotion became too much, a pat on the back- but never something so casually intimate. Bucky strayed away sometimes, though. He would get caught up looking at a bird or something shiny, and suddenly he’d disappear.

 

Steve had panicked when it first happened. He hadn’t been paying attention. His own eyes had been drawn by a boy with pinked spiked hair and piercings on his face. When he thought to look back at Bucky, his friend had vanished. Steve’s chest had compressed rapidly and he’d rushed about in every direction until he found him looking at a street performer swallowing fire.

 

He’d grabbed Bucky and nearly shaken him apart with how desperately he’d clutched at him. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying until Bucky’s fingers pressed against his cheeks. “Steve?” he asked him uncertainly, and Steve just cried even harder. He held Bucky close, and swore he wouldn’t lose him again. He wouldn’t lose him ever again. No matter what.

 

Holding Bucky’s hand after that wasn’t even a slight blip on his radar of uncomfortable. He didn’t care how it looked. He didn’t care what anyone else thought. He wouldn’t lose Bucky. He wouldn’t. Not again. Not more than he already had.

 

Bucky, much to the bemusement of the therapists that SHIELD had assigned to them, could speak. He could speak one word. “Steve.” He said it in various tones and inflections, and it was the only word he made any effort in. It was the last word Bucky had said before the plane went down, and apparently it was the only word he had any interest in saying now.

 

Steve was grateful it was at least that and not something else. He didn’t know if he could handle it if Bucky called out for his siblings, or worse: his parents. So far he hadn’t so much as alluded to being interested in what became of the Barnes clan.

Steve had looked into it, and discovered that his sister Rebecca was still alive, married, and burdened by not only children but grandchildren as well. Steve had no idea how he was supposed to call her up and explain the situation to her. “Hello, Becky, it’s little Steve Rogers. I went off to become Captain America and died seventy years ago with your brother, but don’t worry – we’re back now, and still twenty-five!” He didn’t think that was fair to her. Or to Peggy, who Steve found was also still alive and living in a nursing home just outside of DC.

 

He told Bucky about her at least. Steve had made them sandwiches for dinner and Bucky had more jelly on his cheeks than in his stomach and couldn’t look happier about it. Steve spoke to him for nearly an hour, baring his soul and struggling to make it through even the most basic of sentences. He’d had a plan with Peggy. They were going to go dancing after the war, and they were going to do things right. If she still fancied him after he stepped on her feet in the dance hall, he’d take her out real proper. He’d ask her to marry him and they’d settle down someplace quiet where they made their own chaos and didn’t worry about hell raining down on them. They’d have a few kids and bemoan how Bucky still hadn’t settled down yet. The Commandos would swing by every so often and they’d have a life together.

 

He told Bucky about how Peggy couldn’t even remember where she was half the time, let alone the year. How she’d lived her whole life and he was never a part of it. When he’d finished, Bucky had finished his entire sandwich, save the crusts. Those, he put back on his plate and passed to Steve. He smiled encouragingly, and Steve forced a similar expression in return. He ate Bucky’s crusts, and tried to pretend that Bucky intended it as a way to cheer him up.

 

A bird fluttered past the window and Bucky rushed to watch it. Steve pressed his fingers into his eyes again. He promised himself he wouldn’t cry. He’d done too much of that already.

 

“Steve!” Bucky called out to him, and Steve answered immediately. He swallowed the last of the crusts, and he walked to see what had gotten Bucky excited this time. There was a spider building a web on the terrace. It was spinning its thread in slow, precise, motions, and Bucky was captivated by it.

 

They sat side by side and watched the spider weave its web, and Steve wished he knew where their future was going.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The back pay was astounding. Steve stared at the bank statement he’d been given and was certain there’d been a computer glitch of some kind. He asked the agent, representative, whomever she was, to explain it to him again and again. She patiently went over the complicated matter of automatic promotions, inflation, extra hazardous duty pay, and living allowances. He lost her at the same point each time, his mind still not wrapping around the fact that he was, apparently, a millionaire. So was Bucky.

 

“I don’t understand,” he said again, and she sighed and pat his arm kindly.

 

“It’s a lot to take in,” she agreed. “Do you need an investment counselor?” He had no idea what that meant, and so he nodded dumbly. Bucky had entirely ignored the proceedings, preferring instead to play with a slinky they’d found on one of their walks through the park. Bucky had bought him one before he’d left for war, and now Steve had returned the favor. Bucky had latched onto it immediately, and Steve liked thinking that he remembered the first slinky he’d played with.

 

“What do you think, Buck? Think I can afford to get you another slinky, huh?” Bucky held it up to him with a smile.

 

“Steve!”

 

“Yeah, and maybe a bird or two for you as well. Never had a pet, bet we could afford one now. Or a dog…we could get a dog.” The slinky fell from Bucky’s fingers and hit the ground with a boing. It walked itself one step and then stopped in a perfect arch, wiggling occasionally. Bucky’s hands snatched both of Steve’s arms and squeezed them tight.

 

“Steve!” he said insistently, shaking Steve’s arms as his face burst with excitement. “Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve!” He was nodding frantically and soon was dragging Steve towards the door. Steve reached down and scooped up the slinky along with the paperwork that he’d been given in regards to his account. The lady who’d spoken with them looked politely amused and said nothing as they departed in a flurry of movement.

 

Bucky was bouncing with excitement, literally vibrating out of his seat as Steve asked the cab they hailed to get them to the nearest pet-store. Bucky didn’t even let the talking picture on the back of the seat partition distract him as he trembled in anticipation. The ride took almost twenty minutes, but when they got out onto the street Bucky snatched Steve’s hand and dragged him indoors.

 

Bucky couldn’t have looked more astounded if he tried. His eyes went everywhere, and Steve had a suspicion that it wouldn’t take long before they had a domestic zoo living in their apartment. Colonel Fury had insisted that they didn’t have to worry about anything in regards to their living arrangement. From the way Fury had said it, Steve half suspected they were under surveillance at all times anyway. If Bucky wanted…a bearded dragon…then he could have one.

 

Steve couldn’t help but stare at the lizard Bucky was peering at. People didn’t own things like this back when they were alive. They just didn’t. Even the fish looked exotic. Steve looked between each cage and tank in amazement. There were so many options and varieties. They walked together from one animal to the next, and when they finally came to the bird section, Steve frowned as Bucky watched the small pets hop from perch to perch. Unlike the pigeons or the ducks, Bucky’s mouth tucked down and his excitement faded slightly.

 

“You don’t like them?” Steve asked him curiously, wondering what went wrong. Bucky bit his lip.

 

“Steve?” His fingers reached towards the lock on the cage, and Steve hated how easily he understood. Bucky liked the ducks and the pigeons because they were outside. That’s where birds were meant to be. These birds…they weren’t even flying. They just gave aimed hops from one landing to the next.

 

“I’m sorry, Buck. We can just go to the park if you want,” he said, reaching out to take Bucky’s hand away from the lock. “Do you still want to look at the dogs?” Bucky nodded slowly, and Steve looked up to see where they’d have to go for that. It wasn’t far now. He led and Bucky followed, but with each chirping shriek of the birds behind him, his shoulders slumped more and more.

 

There were dozens of puppies in the store. A small area was blocked off to allow the puppies to run about and play while prospective buyers interacted with them. Bucky tugged on Steve’s arm insistently until he navigated them both through. Bucky fell to his knees before the puppies in an act of pure supplication. He offered himself as their latest friend and companion and they flocked to him like he spoke their language perfectly. Puppies appeared out of the woodworks, jumping and wrestling with each other to find a use for their new piece of fascinating furniture to play with.

 

They scrambled over Bucky’s limbs, pushed against his fingers, and rubbed along his sides. He couldn’t have looked more impressed if he tried. Steve crouched alongside him, gently navigating his own pack of pups to one side so they trotted back to Bucky. A very small yellow dog, a Labrador, Steve thought, tried to join his siblings in the crowd, but kept getting pushed back. One of the larger puppies even barked at him, snapping little teeth in the Labrador’s direction until he flopped onto his tummy and reluctantly lay still while his brothers captured all of Bucky’s attention.

 

Except, Bucky’s attention was no longer shifting from each new glorious pup to the next. He frowned down at the little yellow lab, and batted the others away insistently when they tried to pull his focus back to them. Bucky carefully lowered his palm to the runt’s head. The tiny pup looked up at him with great big eyes, and Bucky cradled him to his chest. He stroked the lab’s ears, his spine, his feet. In turn, the lab pressed against his fingers and nuzzled his palm. He licked his nails and then, remarkably, fell asleep curled up in Bucky’s arms.

 

Bucky looked up at Steve, hope blossoming through his expression. Steve smiled at him, and finally felt as though he’d done something right with his friend. “Want to take him home?” he asked, and Bucky nodded his head up and down so fast Steve half-suspected he’d made himself dizzy. The puppy in Bucky’s arms slept on, oblivious to how his own life was about to change completely.

 

“What’re going to call him?” Steve asked curiously. And, if he had ever doubted before that there were some traces of Bucky’s personality hidden away in the childlike persona that now encapsulated his friend, he didn’t doubt it now. Bucky looked up at him with a wicked grin that barely matched the innocent expressions he’d maintained up to that point.

“Stevie” he said firmly, and Steve couldn’t help but laugh at the response. The golden haired runt of the litter, bullied by all the bigger boys and girls on the block, had captured Bucky’s heart. What else would his dog be called?

 

“You’re a jerk,” Steve told him, nudging his arm with a fist. Bucky just smiled back, adopting that perfectly innocent look he’d had since he’d woken up. His friend was still in there, Steve knew. He was still the same person. He just went about things in a different way.

 

Stevie slept like the dead and didn’t seem at all concerned or bothered by the fact that he was being taken away from his home. He was fitted for a red, white, and blue collar that Bucky had snatched up and continued smiling innocently about even when Steve had rolled his eyes. “You’re doing it on purpose,” he accused, though Bucky continued to pretend he didn’t understand what Steve was talking about.

 

Dog food was purchased, pamphlets were handed out by delighted store attendants, and a list of veterinary hospitals were acquired. Steve nearly had a heart attack when he saw how much the final bill came out to be, and he re-evaluated how well off they were going to be with the money they’d received from the government. He’d known things were more expensive in the future, but he still couldn’t help the feeling of panic that came whenever he spent more than ten dollars on anything. The seven hundred dollar bill, which he was assured was a very reasonable price, was painful.

 

Regardless, he handed over his card and they were told to enjoy their purchase. Bucky fiddled with his puppy’s collar and ignored everyone else even as Steve placed a hand on his shoulder and carefully guided him out of the store. As they were leaving, a loud yelp sounded over in the bird section, and suddenly parakeets were flocking en masse out of their cages. They fluttered up into the air, escaping onto shelves and stacks of dog food, and Bucky didn’t stop to look back once. He just kept walking, and Steve walked with him.

 

“You know they’ll catch them eventually,” Steve told him quietly, because he didn’t doubt Bucky had done something while he wasn’t looking. The puppy in Bucky’s arms started to wake up, and squirm where he was being held. There was a startled yell behind them, and they looked back to watch as two parakeets dove out the store door and into the hot Manhattan sun. “Well…maybe not them.” Bucky smiled and watched as they flew away. “They might not like it out here. They’ve never known any other life beside that cage.” Bucky shook his head.

 

“Steve…” The Captain looked back at his friend who tilted his head to one side and held up his puppy. “Stevie.”

 

“Yeah. Stevie. People are gonna think we’re a bit self obsessed you know…Can’t you at least call him ‘Grant’ or something a little less recognizable? I mean, I’m touched you want to name your dog after me, but still…”

 

“Stevie,” Bucky insisted, and Steve rolled his eyes.

 

“Whatever you want, Buck. Whatever you want.” Bucky set his Labrador down on the sidewalk, and Steve made sure the leash was attached appropriately. It was obvious the little fuzzball had never been walked before, and it didn’t make more than a few steps before he plopped his butt on the ground and refused to move. “Look at that, he’s just as athletic as I was,” Steve teased, and Bucky picked the pup up again. He carried the squirming creature all the way back to their apartment, though he became progressively more devastated with each unhappy whine Stevie created. “He’s just a baby,” Steve told him. “He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. We’ll train him when we get home.” They’d never owned a dog, but they’d bought books at the store and it couldn’t be that hard. Besides, they’d seen plenty of dogs growing up. It couldn’t be that hard.   

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was that hard.

 

Stevie was impossible. He ran around the house and chewed on everything in sight. He was walked ten times a day, and he still seemed to have a bladder that was always full whenever it was time to go to sleep. Steve had no idea how anyone managed to keep a dog as a pet, and whenever he accidentally stepped in a pile of mess he wondered if it was too late to take the lab back to where it had been spat out as a hell-spawn.

 

To make it all worse, Bucky adored him. He loved the little monster like it really was a tiny canine Steve Rogers, and it made it excruciatingly difficult to loath the beast because of it. Bucky was so enamored with the dog that Steve grudgingly put up with it. Even if it did go through their home like a right little terror.

 

“Toys.” He was told when another one of Fury’s agents stopped by to see how they were adjusting to the future. “When we had a puppy, we gave it an obscene amount of toys. They’ll chew on those instead of the furniture, then.”

 

Bucky smiled happily when Steve suggested they return to the store to buy toys for his devil-dog. Stevie had gotten much better at walking on a leash, and he no longer chewed holes in it when they weren’t looking. They walked him so frequently that he’d figured out how he should behave, and Steve was half convinced the Labrador only acted up whenever Steve was watching. For Bucky, the hell-hound was a perfect angel. Holy light and halos seemed to be affixed to him at all times, and Steve couldn’t believe how much trouble the small creature could cause.

 

As they approached the pet store, Stevie started to whine unhappily, and Bucky looked down at his puppy in open confusion. Stevie planted his back paws firmly on the ground and dropped his butt to the concrete, preferring to be dragged rather than allow one more step to carry him forwards. “Stevie. Stevie. Stevie,” Bucky chanted, tugging on the leash and not understanding why the dog refused to budge. He looked back and forth between Steve and his puppy, but Steve was at a loss too.

 

The puppy wriggled around his collar and jerked his head back. Bucky crouched down to pick him up, and for the first time, Stevie snapped out with his jaws. Teeth clamped down around Bucky’s hand, and Steve shouted in surprise. “Stevie, no!” Bucky didn’t seem to even notice his hand was being bitten, and instead finished his action and lifted the small animal up to his chest. Stevie shifted and released Bucky’s hand and barked in Bucky’s face. His teeth reached out once more, and this time Bucky recoiled away from the action. He dropped the dog unconsciously, and the puppy took off down the sidewalk.

 

“Stevie!” Bucky shouted, and ran right after him. Steve chased them both, rushing to catch up. His eyes kept sliding towards traffic. Cars were driving up and down the street without a care in the world, and the puppy was dodging pedestrians and getting far too close to the pavement. Bucky had almost caught him when the lab scooted between two parked vehicles in a mad dash to go across the street.

 

“Bucky - no!” Steve called, knowing what was going to happen before it even took place. Bucky twisted on his feet, changed directions, and scooped his dog up with one hand even as he stumbled into the middle of the road. He’d turned to look back towards Steve, smiling as he held Stevie up to show him that he caught him, and was immediately hit by a cab that hadn’t had enough warning to stop.

 

Bucky’s body crumpled. It curled around Stevie and rolled up over the hood and into the windshield of the cab. His knees tucked under him and his head bent over his dog, and Steve could feel winter wind snap around them and the sound of a train horn echo through his ears. He was reaching, reaching, reaching, and Bucky wasn’t going to make it - he was going to fall. This time, he wasn’t there to catch him before the icy ravine took him miles away.

 

Steve cut through the row of parked cars and rushed to Bucky’s side. The driver of the vehicle had gotten out and was panicking as he tried to dial his cell-phone for an ambulance. Bucky was huddled on the hood of the car, and Stevie’s head had escaped just far enough for Steve to see the puppy was relatively unharmed.

 

“Bucky?” Steve reached out to touch his friend’s shoulder, and jumped violently when he twisted and looked up at him.

 

“Steve.” Bucky smiled, and unfolded his limbs. “Stevie!” He held the puppy out to him, completely uncaring of the injuries that he must have sustained. Steve stared at Bucky dumbly and for the first time since waking up, he thought that getting Bucky tested by SHIELD might be actually be a very good idea.

 

“Are you hurt?” he asked Bucky. His body was numb. His mind was sluggishly crawling towards an answer that he was certain existed. It wasn’t coming to him.

 

“Steve!” Bucky was smiling at him even brighter than before, and Steve’s eyes fell to Bucky’s hand. The bite that Stevie had given him was still there, but the small holes that the puppy teeth had put in his skin were not. The small specks of blood that surrounded his skin seemed out of place around the unbroken flesh they resided near. Only faint red dots were there to show that anything had happened at all. Steve looked around them, they’d formed a crowd, and Bucky was fussing over his puppy more than the fact that he’d been hit by a vehicle going at least thirty miles per hour, and he’d walked away,  completely unharmed.

 

“We need to go,” Steve said quietly. Then, placing a hand on Bucky’s arm, he hoisted him up from the car. “We need to go.” He repeated, tone dropping to a tight command. Bucky looked startled at his current mood and he held his puppy close to his chest. “Come on.” Steve told him, and then he started to drag Bucky away. They ignored the started driver, the confused crowd, and the group of onlookers that were holding up their cell-phones in their directions.

 

Steve kept his pace brisk until he realized that Bucky really was uninjured, and then he broke out into a run. Bucky kept pace with him without even trying. He didn’t seem to be concerned with anything at all, and just kept running at Steve’s side. Steve pushed it a bit more, curiosity coursing through him as he broke out of the standard speed of a human athlete and into a super-soldier run. Bucky stayed with him.

 

They ran side by side, and Steve’s mind whirled around and around even as he saw their apartment getting closer. They both tucked inside and climbed the stairs, and Steve watched as Bucky kicked off his shoes and placed Stevie back on the ground. The puppy stared at them both like they’d lost their minds, and then promptly wandered to a couch pillow and fell asleep. Bucky turned to look back at him. “Steve?” he asked, happiness clearly fading as Steve stared.

 

“In 1943, when you were held captive by Zola…what did he do to you?” He’d never asked. He’d never thought to ask. Bucky had walked out of there with nightmares that woke the camp and a chip on his shoulder against all of Germany. He’d told Steve once, and only once, that he had no intentions of letting Hydra win, and he wasn’t going to get captured ever again. He’d made Steve promise not to make him talk about it, and Steve had respected that wish every day since then. Now, Bucky looked at him uncomprehendingly, and Steve felt his heart race in his chest. “Bucky?” He asked quietly.

 

“Steve?” Bucky repeated, and Steve clenched his fingers into fists.

 

“What did he do to you?”

 

Bucky handed Steve his puppy’s leash, and then skipped to the couch to pet the slumbering menace. Steve stood in the doorway, holding the leash, and wished he understood what that meant.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Steve relented in letting Colonel Fury have someone unobtrusive come by and run some tests on Bucky. Mainly because he had no idea what he was doing or how to handle this situation. They took more blood, and monitored Bucky’s reactions, and they told him what he’d already come to suspect. “It’s not the same as your serum, but he was altered.” Steve nodded his head at the appropriate moments in the conversation, and spent the rest of it staring at where Bucky was playing with his dog. Steve had had someone drop off a box full of toys for the puppy, and it had dropped the number of ruined personal possessions in favor of making their apartment a minefield in the dark.

 

“If he has super-healing, why isn’t he better?” Steve asked quietly. Bucky’s brain was apparently just as damaged as it had been when he’d first woken up, and the doctors quibbled over the reason for nearly an hour before they finally gave him a response.

 

“He’s alive,” they told him gently. “The brain is a complex matrix of possibilities. Had he sustained that injury without the serum, he’d be dead right now. But he’s alive, he’s moving, and he’s communicating to an extent. That’s more than any normal human would be able to do.” Steve nodded absently and watched as Bucky tumbled his slinky around Stevie’s back. The puppy barked happily as it tried to snatch at it. Bucky was too quick for him. “We’d like to examine him more closely, to see how his compound compares to yours.” Steve’s head ached at the request and he shook his head.

 

“He can get hit by cars going thirty, and survive a plane crash in the Arctic. You don’t need to know how many sit-ups he can do in an hour.” He didn’t even know how he’d convince Bucky to even do it. Bucky had no interest in doing things that he wasn’t already predisposed for, and his short-term memory was terrible. He’d start something and then forget why he was doing it halfway through. If he didn’t want to do it, he wasn’t going to do it. It was as simple as that.

 

“There are ways that we could find the information that we need without causing him any stress,” the doctor offered, and Steve felt himself bend. He wanted to know what was going on with his friend. He wanted to know what he could expect. He nodded wordlessly, and watched as the one of the doctors stepped forwards. “Bucky? May I join you?”

 

Bucky, as he did with almost everyone who wasn’t Steve, ignored him completely. He kept moving his slinky around Stevie’s body, tickling the puppy as he went. “When did you and Bucky meet?” The doctor who’d stayed behind with him asked. He glanced towards the man and then redirected his gaze to his friend. The doctor sitting with him was talking in a low voice, and Bucky kept turning away.

 

Bucky wasn’t generally rude to those around him. Steve discovered that it was relatively easy to figure out what his friend wanted as long as you were paying attention. If he turned away from something, he didn’t want to interact with it. He didn’t want to be pressed. Now, he was shifting his whole body to put his back to the man, and Steve licked his lips uncomfortably. “Captain Rogers?”

 

“What?” Steve looked back to the doctor beside him.

 

“When did you and Bucky meet?”

 

“I don’t remember. We’ve always been together.” Their mothers had been friends, and on the days when his father was too drunk to do much more than throw a punch at the nearest target, the Barnes family had given them sanctuary. Bucky had always been there, and he had always been there for Bucky. Neither could recall a time before each other. They’d tried once, and failed.

 

“You were always friends?”

 

“Yes.” Bucky’s doctor reached out to touch his arm and somewhere between Stevie starting to bark and Bucky turning away, he must have struck the man. The doctor went flying back, crashing to the floor with a stunned expression. Blood dripped from his nose and Steve shot forwards, planting himself firmly between them. Bucky had abandoned his slinky and was now petting his puppy fretfully, taking huge gulping breaths of air as the dog growled over his shoulder towards the doctor Bucky had attacked. “We’re done,” Steve decided. He reached a hand down and Bucky took it immediately. He climbed back up to his feet, still hugging Stevie to his chest. “I’m sorry about your nose, but we’re done. He doesn’t want this.”

 

“It’s in his best interest-”

 

“No. No I was right all along. It’s not in his best interest. He doesn’t want this, we’re not doing this.”

 

“But Captain Rogers-”

 

“Try to stop us,” Steve snapped, squeezing Bucky’s hand once before tilting his chin up in open aggression. “I dare you.” The doctors, wisely, remained quiet and slowly collected their things. They left within minutes, though the tension didn’t fade in the least. Bucky began shivering against an imaginary chill, and Steve pulled off his jacket to wrap him up in. “We’re going to be all right,” Steve told him quietly, but his friend didn’t reply. He kept biting his lower lip, and rolling it between his teeth.

 

Eventually Bucky walked to the window and curled up against it to look at the bird feeder they’d set up earlier in the week. There was always some manner of creature helping itself to the seed available, and Bucky drew his knees to his chest as he watched them scavenge. Stevie flopped onto the floor by his feet and played with one of his toys, batting it around the room and chasing it before returning to Bucky’s side.

 

Steve watched them for a while, before quietly apologizing to them. “I should have asked you first. I’m sorry.” He turned to walk to the kitchen and fix them something to eat, when he heard Bucky’s voice say his name.

 

“Steve?” Bucky wasn’t looking at him, but he held his hand out and reached towards him. He waved his fingers until Steve crossed the room and took them. Then, Bucky pulled him closer and motioned towards the feeder. Steve stood at his side and they watched the birds come and go, and Steve hoped this meant he was forgiven. Bucky didn’t speak for the rest of the night, and in the end, they went to bed hungry. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Colonel Fury started sending them subtle care packages to help them acclimate better. Memberships to a local gym were most appreciated, as were the library cards and automatic food deliveries. Bucky hated the markets, and between him and Stevie there was no way Steve was getting them into one.

 

Steve needed the gym, though. The owner left them a key to use to lock up with when they were done, and they’d go together after hours. Mostly Steve worked a punching bag, and the need to hit something until it burst pumped his motivation upwards each time he looked at it. Bucky and Stevie would sit nearby playing a game of fetch with a tennis ball they’d acquired, and Steve would hit the bag until he was half convinced that everything would turn out okay.

 

There were so many faces he wanted to destroy, so many memories he wished he could just grind into dust under his force of his knuckles. He was exhausted and furious. He was depressed. Every time he looked up and saw Bucky sitting so close, he found himself spinning down a spiral of self hate and uncertainty. He’d saved Bucky’s life from that fall, and he’d condemned him to a half-life only days afterwards.

 

Steve threw his fist into the bag harder and harder. He could still see the HYDRA soldier stand up and fire a blast straight at Bucky. He could still feel the initial horror that told him his friend, his brother, had just been thrown to his death. He could feel the wind against his face and the strain on his muscles as he reached out desperately for Bucky’s hand. He could feel the terror that spiked through his heart when he realized he wouldn’t be able to reach him. He could feel the metal creaking around his palm as he threw his arm out and just barely managed to catch Bucky’s wrist.

 

Bucky had screamed as the bar he was holding snapped from the train. His hands immediately snatched at Steve’s arm and he’d held on to him for dear life. Steve had bent the metal siding completely as he forced his body backwards. He jerked Bucky back up onto the train, and immediately shuffled so they were far from the hole. Bucky’s hands had scrambled around him and they’d clung to each other until the train stopped and Gabe had secured the prisoners. Later, Gabe found them on the ground, incapable of letting go, both crying as terror and panic overcame them completely.

 

In the days that followed, Bucky and Steve had been glued to each other’s side. Steve knew Bucky dreamt of falling, and Steve reciprocated by dreaming of letting go. They’d done their best to be good Catholics before then, but that night they both prayed harder than they ever had before. Less than a week later, Steve put the plane in the ice, and he damned them both to live this life. God had a funny sense of humor after all.  

 

Steve threw punch after never ending punch into the bag until it finally exploded beneath the crushing weight of his agony. Stevie barked as the chain snapped and sand scattered across the gym. Bucky laughed at something and Steve squeezed his eyes shut. If he’d let go of Bucky’s hand, if he’d let him fall, Bucky would be dead now, and he’d be here alone. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out if that was better or worse, and he hated himself for it.

 

He reached down to get another bag and he lifted it up to reattach it to the hook. He pulled back another fist and he let it land. Punch after punch after punch. He hit the bag as hard as he physically could. Everyone he’d ever loved was dead or out of their minds. He punched the bag in an attempt to slay demons, but his demons only grew. In his mind he waged war against the armies of hell, and he knew he would never succeed.

 

A hand touched his shoulder and he gasped in surprise. He flattened his palms to catch the bag as it swung back towards him, and he looked. Bucky was standing at his side, face twisted into an expression that Steve couldn’t identify. He looked uncertain, worried, and even a bit confused. “Steve?” he asked, and reached out to touch Steve’s face. He drew his hand away, and Steve watched as they came away wet.

 

Steve had promised himself he’d stop crying.

 

It was another promise he’d broken. The tears just came harder after that. He clung to Bucky and pressed his nose into his neck. He cried hysterically, smearing snot onto Bucky’s shift collar and dampening his throat. Bucky stood still in his arms, babbling out his name in increasing tones of confusion and distress, and Steve couldn’t help but squeeze him harder.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Bucky.” Stevie wandered around their feet and whined unhappily, and Steve moved first this time. He slowly lowered them both to the ground and he scooped the puppy up to their chests. He held both Bucky and Stevie and he cried against their bodies as though it would make things better.

 

Bucky ran a hand through Steve’s hair and pet him like he did his dog, and Steve didn’t care one bit about it. It was a response, and he’d take it. He’d take it. “I want to go home,” he told Bucky, knowing that it was hysteric and impossible, knowing there was nothing Bucky could do to make this better. No one would be able to do anything about this. “I want to go home. I want to go dancing with Peggy. I want to see your ma and your sisters. I want to go to a Dodgers game. I want to go home.”

 

Steve would readily admit that he was many things. He was a champion of American ideas and symbolism. He was a stubborn idealist who always believed in being the best he could possibly be. He was traditionalist, though he’d never considered himself that prior to landing in the twenty-first century. To the public eye he was Captain America - the Star Spangled Man With A Plan.

 

But he was also twenty-five, even if the rest of the world thought he was in his nineties. He was twenty-five years old, and his war was supposed to be over. He was supposed to be able to go back home and live out the rest of his days, proud of his accomplishments. Life didn’t work out quite the way it was supposed to be.

 

“Steve?” Bucky asked him, and Steve pressed a hand to his arm.

 

“I’m going to be okay. I just need a minute,” Steve told him quietly. He rubbed his hand over his eyes and took a deep breath. “I need a few minutes.” Stevie barked between them, and Steve pat the dog’s head. He’d need a lifetime to get over this. Maybe in another twenty-five years he’ll feel a part of the world again. Maybe not.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Their next major expense was a piano. It was a small baby-grand that took the combined efforts of a crane and three workmen to fit into their apartment. Bucky watched it go in with wide eyes, and Steve stayed at his side to gently pull him back whenever he looked like he wanted to get involved. A small part of him felt guilty for making the men work so hard to get it in the apartment, but Steve knew as soon as he got involved Bucky would follow. That meant Stevie would follow too, and they’d likely end up with a broken piano and a semi-squished puppy to go along with it. Steve really didn’t want that to happen.

 

The piano was positioned on the back wall, and Steve waited for them to leave before he started moving furniture about to clear a more open space on the floor. He was determined to do this properly, and he would figure out the steps to all those dances Bucky tried to teach him even if it killed him. He’d promised Peggy he’d dance with her after the war, and he never had his chance. He’d be damned if he didn’t at least learn.

 

“You gonna play for me, Bucky?” he asked his friend as Bucky immediately sat at the piano bench. One of the workers had tuned it for them, saying it came with the service, and as Bucky dropped his fingers onto the keys it sounded all right to him. Bucky touched each key starting with the low notes and marching his way up to the high notes. Steve didn’t know which key was called what, but he watched as Bucky painstakingly went about investigating each note and pedal. Years ago, Bucky had tried to get him to remember which note was which letter, but it had never stuck. He knew finger patterns for songs, but that was it.

 

The idea to get the piano had come from watching Bucky’s fingers start to tap in time with the notes as they listened to a radio program. Bucky hadn’t seemed to realize he was doing it, but Steve watched as he tapped down and moved his hands in time with the song. He played whole pieces on Stevie’s spine as the dog dozed on his lap, even crossing his hands over when the piece called for it.

 

Before the war, Bucky had earned three whole dollars in tips each night he played at the local club. He’d learned all the good dancing songs and flirted shamelessly with the dames when they came to call. He’d been playing since he was eight, and every time a new hit came out he was sure to listen to it over and over until he could work out exactly how to play it himself.

 

Now, Bucky sat before the baby-grand and Steve licked his lips in anticipation. The first notes were sloppy, as were most of the ones that followed. Steve sat and listened, unmoving, as Bucky found combinations and sounds that he liked. Time slipped by and Bucky’s fingers danced across the skeleton keys. He jumped up and down scales and ran blissfully over arpeggios, and soon some of the notes eventually sounded more and more like music. Familiar music, too. Steve remembered these songs, and he leaned his head back onto the arm of the couch and he let himself doze as he listened to the familiar sounds of his past come to life in his ear.

 

“You’re still there,” he murmured as the jazz riffs picked up speed. “You’re still there.”

 

Bucky played the piano for hours at a time. His fingers never seemed to tire and his eyes were always closed. Stevie waited patiently as he played, chewing on a ball or the hem of Bucky’s pants when he wasn’t looking. As Bucky ran through his entire repertoire he expanded it to combining certain pieces and creating a never-ending medley. Steve found that he could leave Bucky to his piano and move about the city alone. When he came back: Bucky would still be playing and he wouldn’t even realize that Steve had been gone.

 

He had to pry Bucky away from his piano. He tempted him with food and with warm blankets for sleep, and Bucky still tapped out his fingers as he dreamed and ran through scales across their table. Steve put on the radio every night and he fumbled through a few steps of the dances that he saw Bucky do, and Bucky watched him curiously and laughed whenever Steve messed up.

 

“You could always help, you know,” Steve challenged. Stevie barked and rushed up to him, jumping to put his paws on Steve’s legs. “Even the dog dances more than you do now,” Steve teased, taking the puppy’s paws in his hands and swaying back and forth as Stevie barked with glee. His tail wagged back and forth with obvious excitement, and he looked back to Bucky occasionally as though to say ‘look favorite-human, look what I can do!’

 

Steve did eventually coax Bucky to join him. Once they actually managed to get a few steps in, muscle memory took over and Bucky actually proved he could still dance quite well. His eyes glazed over somewhat and his expression was frozen with pleased vacancy, but he swayed properly and he led each dance just as he always had.

 

“Now all I have to do is learn it backwards,” Steve muttered when he realized he knew the girl parts by heart and didn’t have a clue on how to lead. When Steve finished dancing, Bucky would always wander back to his piano and replay all the songs they’d danced to even if he’d only heard it the one time. It was more impressive than he’d ever been before, and Steve wondered if that was another skill he’d picked up from whatever serum Zola injected into Bucky’s blood.

 

At night, when they slept side by side with their beds pushed together, just like they had before and during the war, Steve watched over Bucky and made sure he was well. Sometimes he touched his fingers to Bucky’s throat just to feel his pulse, and sometimes, when he knew Bucky was sleeping very deeply, he itched at Bucky’s skin by his face just to make sure it wasn’t coming up. You don’t have one of those, do you? Bucky had asked him once oh so long ago. Steve wondered the same thing now, and wished that he had all the answers he wouldn’t let SHIELD find out for him.

 

Steve liked to put things into perspective. Bucky was brain damaged, barely conversant, and wholly dependent on him for all things, but his face never peeled off to reveal a red skull underneath. That was a positive. Steve clung to Bucky in the night and counted his breaths until he fell asleep too. He dreamed of pianos and letting go, and he wasn’t sure when the dream ended and the nightmare began. He wasn’t sure when reality was going to warp around them and bring them back to 1945. Steve didn’t like the future. He’d much rather go home.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Colonel Fury found him when he was punching through memories of waking up on the ice. He’d already destroyed one bag, and Bucky was busy practicing handstands. Stevie was watching over his favorite human with his head tilting in either direction, wagging his tail and barking nervously whenever Bucky started to fall.

 

They’d passed a street performer earlier that week, and Bucky had been determined to learn the trick. He’d spent three days trying to get his balance right, each time over committing and crashing to the ground. Eventually he managed it with Steve holding on to his ankles. Then he held it for five minutes before he decided he wanted to try walking like that. He’d been at it for the rest of the week and he’d already bitten off the tip of his tongue when he fell while it was tucked between his teeth as he concentrated. Blood had burst from his mouth and Stevie barked in rapid succession until Steve realized what had happened and quickly scrambled to get Bucky to a hospital. Halfway there, the blood stopped and Bucky just looked miserable. He was back to trying his handstands that same night, and Fury had their carpet replaced before they even got home.

 

Bucky had mastered walking at this point, and was now entertaining himself by trying to go up and down stairs on his hands. Stevie was quick to start barking up a storm if Bucky injured himself, and so Steve was left to destroy bag after bag as much as he wanted. Fury found them in the middle of their practice session, and politely didn’t say a word about it.

 

Fury liked to talk to him like he could convince him to do anything just by saying the world needed saving. Fury was right, and Steve knew he was being manipulated. He accepted the file that Fury brought, and knew he’d read it the moment he got home, but things were different now. “If I go, what about Bucky?”

 

“Accommodations can be made for him if you won’t leave him behind.” Fury replied delicately. Steve laughed. There was no way he was leaving Bucky behind. Bucky wouldn’t stand for it, and he’d likely come home to find a group of pulverized agents lining the door to their apartment as Bucky took them all out. He’d be an agitated mess and Steve doubted he’d be much better separated from him. Whenever he went shopping and left Bucky to his piano, he always rushed back just to make sure everything was all right. He didn’t want to leave him for too long, and Bucky was safer with him anyway.

 

“Bucky, Stevie, come on,” Steve called as he finished packing his materials and took up his bag. Bucky walked his hands over and carefully made it up the two steps to get to the landing Steve stood on. Fury watched with one brow raised and Steve all but dared him to say something about it. Stevie turned up his nose at Fury and kept stoically at Bucky’s side, forgoing all natural puppy behavior in his effort to stay near his favorite human.

 

He really was aptly named.

 

“We’re going on the street, put your feet down. You can practice when we get back home,” Steve told Bucky tiredly, and his friend tucked into a perfect roll and popped back up onto his feet with a deliriously bright grin. “Dinner?” he asked, and he gained a happy: “Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve!” in response.

 

They picked up sandwiches on their way home, and Steve carried them up the stairs as he monitored Bucky’s handstand progress up the two flights to their apartment. Bucky immediately turned upside down when they entered the building, and Steve patiently watched him climb each step. He rolled upright when they reached the door and Steve applauded him as they reconvened in the kitchen.

 

Bucky sat at the table with his feet tucked onto the seat, and he ate his sandwich with euphoric moans of delight. As he devoured his meal, Steve read through the files he’d been given. Howard Stark had found the tesseract, and it was being used to create an energy source for the world. It was stolen by a demi-God who could control the minds of those around him. Then in another file, he found that Howard’s son, Tony, dressed in an iron suit and flew around the skies killing terrorists.

 

“The world’s gone nuts,” Steve murmured quietly. Bucky passed him his crusts and he chewed them thoughtfully. “We’re fighting legends now.”

 

Bucky drank his water and then wandered to his piano. That’s about how Steve felt about it too. Steve finished reading and went to pack a bag to get ready to go. He scooped a few days worth of dog food out and Stevie watched him curiously as he put it next to his bag. “Gotta make sure you eat too you darn mutt.”  Steve told him, patting his head as he walked by.

 

Near midnight, Steve herded Bucky to the bathroom to brush his teeth and use the facilities before they went to bed. In the morning, they had a plane to catch.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Bucky hated the plane. His hands clutched his seat violently and his breaths came in short gasps. He didn’t even seem to be listening as Steve tried to talk to him, and Stevie curled on his lap without so much as a scratch on his ears. Steve kept one hand on Bucky’s arm and quietly repeated again and again that he was going to be okay, and that they were just going for a short ride, and everything would be fine.

 

“First flight since the accident?” a tall man in a suit asked. He’d introduced himself as Philip Coulson earlier, and Steve nodded absently to him.

 

“I didn’t think of it,” he admitted quietly. “I thought I was getting better at knowing what he likes and dislikes.”

 

“Is he very different? From before?”

 

“In some ways.  In others he’s the same. Right, Buck?” Steve squeezed his friend’s arm but Bucky didn’t respond. He kept shivering and shaking his head, whispering Steve’s name like a prayer.

 

“It’s an honor to meet you, sir. A real honor. I’m a big fan.” Coulson said suddenly, and Steve was never sure what to make of it when people said things like that to him. He smiled politely and nodded his head. “I watched you while you were asleep. I mean, I was one of the people who, watched over you while-” Stevie sneezed on Bucky’s lap, and Bucky jumped in response. His arms went to hold his dog tight to his chest and Steve tightened his grip on Bucky’s arm.

 

“I got you,” he promised. “I won’t let go.” The words cut through whatever terrified haze had blinded his friend, and Bucky actually relaxed somewhat against his side. He’d said those same words that day on the train, and he’d keep saying them as long as Bucky needed to hear them.

 

“You’re good with him,” Coulson said, tone kind and unassuming.

 

“He’s my brother,” Steve replied. “He’s all I have left.” Stevie batted his leg with one golden paw, and Steve laughed. “Well, him and this rascal.”

 

“What’s his name?”

 

“Stevie.”

 

“You named it after yourself?”

 

“Bucky named it. I think he was trying to be funny.” Bucky huffed at his side, and gripped the plane tighter. “Do you have any news on the cube?” Steve asked, eager to know more about this mission he was being sent on.

 

“Not yet, but we’re pulling in the best minds to work on it. We’ve also been working on the uniform, I had some design input-”

 

“The uniform?” Steve hadn’t been expecting that. He blinked up at Coulson in confusion. Everything he’d seen about modern-day America showed that people disrespected the flag and what it stood for on a daily basis. Some things had changed for the better, but some things were much worse. “Aren’t the stars and stripes…a little…” he searched for the words, “old fashioned?”

 

“I think old fashioned is just what we need right now,” Coulson told him honestly. The plane jerked as it started its final descent, and Bucky keened quietly at Steve’s side. He rubbed Bucky’s arm absentmindedly, and reminded him that everything was going to be all right. As soon as they had touched down, though, Bucky flew from his seat and rushed out onto solid land. Stevie tumbled off his lap as he stood and yelped in surprise as he plopped on the ground. It didn’t bother the puppy any, and he hurried after his favorite-human without so much as a slight beat of hesitation.

 

Steve followed after him, and looked at the ship they were on. It was huge. Dozens of small planes lined the sides, and soldiers were running in all directions to strap everything down appropriately. Bucky was staring at it all in amazement, and Steve stepped up to his side. “You okay?” he asked quietly, and Bucky pressed his fingers to his mouth as he bit his lip.

 

A small red-headed woman approached and Steve recognized her from her file. Natasha Romanoff: Russian spy turned American sympathizer, covert assassin, and highly trained. Steve shook her hand and Bucky crouched down to pick up Stevie. The puppy had wandered a bit too close to some of the soldiers and had almost been trampled in response. “All this must feel so strange to you,” Natasha commented lightly.

 

“Actually this is all really familiar,” Steve replied, and it was. Soldiers and service, rigidity of command, and following orders was ingrained in him. Following Fury wasn’t quite like following Philips, but the extreme nature of the mission made the cause mean more, and Steve needed something to hold him together. He needed a purpose.

 

Steve turned around to take in the rest of his surroundings, when he caught sight of Dr. Banner. The Hulk, according to his file. Coulson had given him the explanation on the ride over, and Steve couldn’t care less about what kind of anger issues the man had so long as he could help. Besides, Steve understood what it was like holding back endless tides of anger that couldn’t be let go. He wanted a fight more than he wanted anything else at the moment, and he looked forward to finally having someone he could take his aggression out on.

 

They exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes while Bucky wandered towards the edge of the ship to look over. Steve and Banner joined him, following his eyes as he peered over into the water. “Gentlemen, you might want to get inside. It’s going to get a bit hard to breathe,” Natasha cautioned as they examined the seas.

 

“Is this a submarine?” Steve asked in awe. He barely heard Banner’s response as he stared at the propellers that were starting to rotate under the water and the ground began to lift. A plane. The entire carrier was a plane. Or a helicopter. Or…or something. There wasn’t a name for this thing back in his day, and he had no idea what he was meant to call it now. All he knew, was it was flying, and flying was not okay.

 

“Oh no, this is much worse,” Banner dictated even as Steve caught Bucky by the arm and started to pull him and Stevie back from the edge.

 

“Steve,” Bucky gasped. He looked miserable and frightened, and Steve wrapped an arm around his shoulder as he guided him back indoors.

 

“It’s going to be okay. We’re not going to fall. Nothing’s going to happen. We’re not going to crash. Do you see how big this is? Nothing’ll knock us down. We’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.”

 

“Afraid of flying?” Natasha asked as she and Banner followed them indoors.

 

“Well, the last time we took a big plane for a ride, we crashed into the arctic, were flash frozen, and woke up seventy years in the future.” Steve replied, rubbing Bucky’s arms as he started to shiver. Stevie wriggled to stand on the ground again, and Bucky’s fingers immediately started tapping at his sides. “I don’t suppose you have a piano anywhere in here?” Steve asked, knowing it was a useless request.

 

“I’m sure I can find a keyboard tucked away somewhere,” Natasha said without missing a beat. She left immediately, and Banner stood uncertainly beside them.

 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked quietly, and Steve shrugged.

 

“He’ll be all right once he can calm down.”

 

Banner radiated calm. He was the epitome of soothing tones and gentle words. While he was obviously uncomfortable around the military presence of SHIELD, he was a kind-hearted man that Steve genuinely liked once he started speaking to him. He wasn’t surprised that Bucky was receptive to Banner in a way he hadn’t been towards any other doctor they’d met since waking.

 

Natasha returned and presented Bucky with a somewhat large box with piano keys attached to it. “It’s a keyboard, you turn it on and it plays just like a piano.”

 

“Where are the strings?” Steve asked as he looked at it skeptically.

 

“It’s electronic,” Banner explained. “The notes are preprogrammed into it. When you press the keys down, it creates the sound from a memory bank. You never have to tune it either.” Bucky didn’t look very impressed by it, but Steve took it from Natasha and thanked her. She led them to the main deck, and Banner helped set it up for Bucky while Steve greeted Fury. He turned a few knobs and dials and pressed a few buttons, and when he pressed one of the keys a soft note emitted from the speakers.

 

Immediately Bucky was transfixed. His eyes locked on the keyboard and he shuffled closer to Banner’s side so he could see what he was doing. Within moments Bucky was enraptured with the device and played out soft melodies that the agents and soldiers on deck respectfully ignored.

 

Once he was suitably distracted, Fury started to go over the information they knew so far. Banner outlined what he needed to track the tesseract, and Steve drafted a battle plan in his head. It felt good. The missions, the objectives, and the plan for the future: it all felt good. His body was tingling in a way that proved how energized this experience was making him. Despite the serious nature of the trouble they were facing, Steve was excited.

 

His life hadn’t been reduced to meaningless walks around the park like an animated relic of the past. He had a purpose, and he was determined to succeed. When the monitors went off, letting them know that Loki was found, Steve felt the pulse of adrenaline beat proudly in his body. He looked back to Bucky. “Guess that’s my turn,” he said. Bucky didn’t answer.

 

“Agent Romanoff, show Dr. Banner to his lab, and Sergeant Barnes to his room. Cap - you’re up.” Fury handled his ship, plane, whatever, with an iron fist of control. Everyone followed his orders to the letter, and Natasha immediately hopped to.

 

Bucky was halfway through a song when Steve tapped his shoulder. “C’mon, Buck.” He encouraged, and Bucky blinked up at him in confusion. He looked down at the keyboard. “Bring it with you.” Bucky’s arm wrapped around the body and keys wailed under the pressure, but he lifted it up, pressed it to his chest, and carried it as they followed Natasha through the- “What do you call this thing anyway?” Steve asked curiously.

 

“Helicarrier,” she supplied.

 

He carried it through the helicarrier.  

 

Banner’s lab was first, and he immediately set to work looking at monitors and adjusting equipment to his specifications. Bucky spotted a corner that looked moderately empty and he crossed his legs under him as he slid down the wall to sit. “Bucky, no - there’s a room-”

 

“He’s fine,” Banner offered kindly. “If you want? He can stay. I can look out for him while you’re gone. At least that way he’s not locked in a room by himself.” Steve blinked at the suggestion. He hadn’t given much thought to what it’d be like after he’d left. With the keyboard, he doubted that Bucky would even notice he’d gone, but if he did notice…and he was alone…

 

“He doesn’t like strangers,” Steve warned cautiously.

 

“That’s all right. I don’t much like them either,” Banner replied. “He plays beautifully, and it’s really no trouble.”

 

“You okay with that, Bucky?” Steve asked, but Bucky didn’t reply. He’d already started drifting into another tune and wasn’t listening to him at all. “I’ll be back after I change,” he told Banner. “He…doesn’t like to be touched,” he warned, and Banner smiled.

 

“Neither do I.”

 

Steve nodded his head and then left. Natasha led him down to where they were storing his costume, and he had to look at it for a few minutes before the sight finally processed appropriately.  It…looked like his old USO uniform. He touched the material and was gratified that it was at least thicker than it looked, but the whole outfit would be skintight at best. He glanced towards Natasha, half convinced she was making a joke, but she didn’t seem to be the type to joke during a mission. She was, however, quite obviously amused. “Coulson, king of the trading cards, had design input, remember?”

 

The trading cards.

 

The trading cards. Those stupid things had never kept up to date with his actual uniform, the one that fit him like battle armor and was thick enough to block out the chill of the Swiss Alps. Even Bucky’s jacket was warmer than this. He was going to look ridiculous. It was a joke. He was certain this whole experience was just a joke. His fingers tightened around the uniform and he took a deep breath.

 

“Hey.” Natasha pressed a hand to his arm. “Have you seen what Iron Man looks like? What I’ll be wearing?” He didn’t respond. “To the rest of the world, we look bizarre and out of place. But when we’re in uniform, no matter how out of place it may seem - we’re all that’s there to keep them safe. It’s just for this run. If you don’t like it, we can change it out later, all right? This time, Coulson can keep it to himself.”

 

“All right,” Steve agreed quietly. “Suppose I’ll really have to sign those cards now, to make it up to him.”

 

“Suppose you’re right,” She grinned. “Come on, I have to change too.”

 

Steve stripped and folded his clothes, neatly placing them on the spare bed he’d been provided. He was right about the uniform. It was tight against his body, and he doubted it would do much to stop the path of an incoming bullet. Hopefully mythological figures of legend didn’t fire guns. He pulled the boots and gloves on last, leaving the cowl down (and it was a cowl, not a helmet; he felt like fucking Batman) until he left.

 

The shield though…the shield was perfect. It was his old one, rescued from the ice along with Bucky and him all those weeks ago. The Howling Commandos were still marked in on the back, and Steve ran his fingers over each signature. They’d all signed it, giving him a personal symbol of everything he was fighting to protect. He’d even managed to get Philips to put his John Hancock on the shield, though the man had complained the whole while. Steve had wanted to scratch the names in permanently, but Howard had insisted it just wasn’t possible. Unless someone had a diamond knife hanging around, nothing was going to cut the vibranium. At the time, no one did. Steve wondered if the future had those sold at every block. It might.

 

He stroked each letter with a heavy heart. Morita, Falsworth, Dernier, Jones, DumDum, Peggy, Philips, Bucky…he closed his eyes and breathed in deep. There were still two people alive, and they were still worth fighting and dying for, even if he never had the courage to speak to Peggy again. Even if he never danced with her again, he’d defend her until the day she died, and even then he’d defend the ideals she had always upheld.

 

Taking a deep breath, he fitted the shield over his arm and he followed the series of hallways and complicated corridors until he returned to Banner’s lab. The scientist looked up when he stepped in, and blinked a few times at the outfit. Whatever he was going to say was immediately silenced by Bucky’s far too loud laugh that bounced off of every wall. He was in full hysterics, he was laughing so hard. He’d doubled over and was pointing at Steve like he’d done something to even deserve that kind of treatment.

 

“Some friend you are,” Steve griped, adjusting his collar uncomfortably. He glanced towards Banner, who seemed to be trying very hard to not smile.

 

“You look good,” Banner offered politely, though he coughed to hide a small laugh that had built up too much pressure in his lungs. It was a lost cause when Bucky started playing Star Spangled Man With A Plan on his keyboard. Even Steve couldn’t help rolling his eyes heavenward, lips twitching upright as Bucky rolled through the first verse. “Oh knock that off,” Steve muttered as Stevie actually started howling along with it. Bucky had to have taught him that. It was the only way. Stevie the Howling Commando. Steve was going to kill him. “You’re hilarious. Really. You really are.” Still, seeing Bucky smile was more than worth it. After his fear on the plane, Steve had worried Bucky would be inconsolable during this trip. At least now he had recaptured his sense of humor. “If you’re quite finished, I’m trying to say goodbye here.” That ground Bucky right to a halt and he stared at Steve in confusion. “I’ll be back in a few hours, you gonna serenade Banner while I’m gone?”

 

“Steve…” Bucky reached for his keyboard and moved to stand up, but Steve crossed the room and crouched before him instead. He put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and kept him seated.

 

“No, stay.” Stevie moved towards them and pressed against his hand insistently, and Steve encouraged Bucky to pet the dog as he spoke. “It’s nothing, just a pick up and that’s it. I’ll be back soon. You won’t even know I’m gone.”

 

“Steve.” Bucky looked more than a little displeased at Steve’s statement.

 

“Well, you’ll know, but it’ll be fine. Just test driving this thing.” He motioned towards the shield and Bucky glared at him. He moved to stand again, but Steve kept his hand against Bucky’s shoulder with a bit more force. “No. You can’t come with me.”

 

“Steve-”

 

“I don’t want you to come with me.” Bucky’s eyes widened at that and his mouth dropped. He body folded like crushed paper, and his bit his lip as he turned his head away. Steve’s chest ached. He hadn’t meant to hurt him, especially not when he’d been so amused only a few minutes earlier, but taking him to Stuttgart wasn’t going to end well for either of them. Bucky couldn’t fight anymore, and Steve knew he wouldn’t be able to fight with Bucky in the middle of a conflict staring at birds rather than the people who might be trying to kill him.  

 

Bucky turned his head away and curled against the wall, ignoring both Steve, his shield, and the keyboard. Stevie looked between them incredulously, and then pushed his wet nose into Bucky’s arm. He didn’t pet him and Stevie whined until he managed to poke his head under Bucky’s arm and get it stuck between the curves of Bucky’s body and limbs. “I’ll be back soon,” Steve promised as he stepped away. Bucky didn’t respond. Steve doubted he was going to.

 

“I’ll keep an eye on him for you,” Banner offered quietly.

 

“You shouldn’t have to,” Steve replied. His eyes fell to Bucky’s signature on the inside of his shield. The faded ink was smudged slightly, and Steve wondered how long it would take before it disappeared entirely. “No one should.”

 

“What happened?” Banner asked him quietly.

 

“Turns out, crashing a plane and freezing to death isn’t so good for the brain,” Steve replied. He shook his head. “I have to go.”

 

Steve couldn’t bring himself to look back at Bucky as he left. He couldn’t even manage to really be involved much with the pre-mission briefing. Natasha must have realized that, because she kept it short and sweet, and the rest of the flight to Germany went by in contemplative silence. Steve leaned his head back against the side of the plane and looked out the window, watching as the world spun beneath them.

 

The ground below was more familiar than the streets of Brooklyn. The mountains and trees still stood as they always had. Seventy years hadn’t destroyed this scenery. Maybe this was where Bucky and he belonged, living amongst the rocks like figments of the past. They’d never age, they’d never die, and they’d just be long-lasting legends that parents told their children about.

 

It would never work. Bucky wouldn’t have a piano in the mountains, and even in the war he’d been disappointed by that.

 

There had been a piano in the first saloon they’d gone to after Steve had rescued the 107th. Bucky had spent most of the night with his hands wrapped around his glass, taking slow pulls as they pretended that he was all right and that Steve was the same person as the boy Bucky had left behind. They’d traded stories quietly and listened as Bucky’s unit mates sang songs, and when everyone eventually trailed out and they were alone at the bar, Bucky finally knocked back his last drink and stumbled towards the instrument. He’d sat on the bench for nearly ten minutes, staring at the keys in front of him without playing a single note.

 

When Steve eventually joined him, he found Bucky’s fingers trembling over the keys. They were shaking so badly that Steve doubted he’d be able to play anything properly even if he had tried. Steve slid onto the seat at Bucky’s left and made a valiant effort at the only song he knew. He bashed out the first notes of Beethoven’s Fifth, accidentally hitting a few keys in the wrong spot. Bucky’s lips quirked upright. He’d taught Steve the four-hand piano arrangement nearly two years prior. “You’re terrible, Rogers.” Bucky’s voice cracked slightly as he adjusted Steve’s hand position and directed him to the right notes. Then, he placed his still-trembling fingers over the keys and began to play through his part. Steve quickly joined back in, and together they performed the worst rendition of the Victory Symphony that had ever been played.

 

Steve had never been good at keeping time and always came in too soon or too slowly for Bucky’s perfectly measured pace. Even as Bucky counted out loud for him, he continued to stumble. Timing had never been his strong suit, but Bucky had smiled at him when they were finished and they both ignored the fact that his eyes were a bit too wet and his own performance had been far from his usual standard. Steve always thought they’d work on the timing later, but they’d never had a chance. Seventy years had passed, and they were still just as out of touch with one another as they had been on that somber night.  

 

Natasha angled the plane for its final descent into Stuttgart and Steve prepared himself for the mission ahead. The last trembling notes of Beethoven’s Fifth echoed through his ears even as he leapt from the plane and saved a man from dying from an energy blast that felt too much like a Hydra weapon. He had a mission to do. Staying focused helped.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Steve was relatively certain he hated Tony Stark. He’d avoided introducing himself to the man when he first woke up, not knowing what to say. “Hey, I knew your father seventy years ago, let’s be friends,” didn’t go over too well in his mind. He was increasingly disappointed that he’d met Tony so soon. He’d be more than happy to have never had the introduction in the first place.  

 

Tony was arrogant, selfish, rude, and conceited. He was in it for the glory and for the prestige. He didn’t care about the mission or the plan. He didn’t listen, he argued with everyone, and his motives were suspect. He made matters worse and was a liability in the field. After the impromptu fight between Thor and Tony, that ended with Loki still somehow remaining in custody and everyone walking away a bit bruised, Steve had had enough.

 

Steve had met soldiers like him before, and they’d either all died in combat or had gotten someone else killed. With Bucky and Stevie on that helicarrier, Steve didn’t want a single thing going wrong. And no one was listening to him when he flat out stated taking Loki back to the ship, plane, thing, was a bad idea. “Things have changed since your day,” Tony told him again as they landed. He pat Steve on the back as they disembarked, Thor following them out with Loki firmly secured between them all. Loki was a model prisoner, and that just didn’t set right with what Steve knew of him.

 

And Thor, Thor was a bizarre mix of Olde English and power that Steve had no idea what to do with. The super-strength and familial bond Steve could understand. The flying and lightening was a bit less acceptable. His brain literally shut down around those facts, and he really wished someone could just explain why all this nonsense didn’t exist seventy years ago. Who screwed up this future and turned it into the pages of fairy tale?

 

Steve shook his head and tugged his cowl off as he made a beeline straight for Banner’s lab. Bucky was still inside, curled up against the wall and looking for all the world that he hadn’t moved an inch since he’d left. He looked to Bruce, who confirmed his suspicions, and Steve bent down to try to talk to him.

 

“Bucky? I’m back.” Nothing. Not even a blink of recognition. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I just…I was worried you’d get hurt. You know I always want you around.”

 

“Steve?” Bucky asked him quietly.

 

“Yeah, buddy?” Bucky reached his hand out to touch Steve’s shoulder. Then, without warning, he shoved hard and sent Steve falling backwards. Bucky’s arm returned to hugging his puppy, and he didn’t move or say another word. Steve pulled air through his teeth, and swallowed back the anger that was starting to collect within him. He stood up and looked towards Banner.

 

“Fury called a meeting,” he said stiffly, and he had to force himself to walk away.

 

Steve had read a history book after he’d woken up. He’d flicked to the pages that covered the stories of Captain America and his Howling Commandos, and he’d read what the world thought of them. Bucky was immortalized as the loyal companion and sidekick (they both hated that word), and their relationship was idyllic. They never fought, never argued, and never were anything but the best of friends.

 

The history books were wrong.

 

Steve and Bucky fought with each other constantly, loudly, ineffectually. Steve argued over Bucky being overbearing, Bucky argued about Steve being too stubborn. They fought over what food they were getting, what work they were taking, what plans they should make, what girls they should talk to. They fought over the war and whether they should join up. They fought over battle strategies and attack formations. They fought every week of their lives, and the only reason they were still friends was because they never let the fights drag on longer than one day. Before bed each night they swore that it only came from honest fear and love for the other person, and if they picked up the fight in the morning: well it was a different argument.

 

The Commandos had long since said that no one could make Steve Rogers angrier than Bucky Barnes, and vice versa. They were the first to have each other’s backs, but they were also the first to point out every single thing that was being done wrong. Steve didn’t have the tolerance for that right now. He really didn’t. Right now, he needed Bucky on his side, and he was trying too hard to deal with the future without Bucky making things worse.

 

Steve walked to the command center and sat stiffly in one of the conference chairs as Natasha took a seat across from him. Thor was pacing about the floor, and Banner eventually joined them as well. Fury set up a video call so they could watch his initial interrogation of Loki, but it ended up being as useless as everything else.

 

They didn’t know anything, Loki was apparently pleased as punch to be there, and now there were honest to God aliens coming to attack them. They used to talk about the alien invasion when he was a kid. Back then, they’d meant all the foreigners coming over on the ships looking for work. Depending on the neighborhood, Steve and Bucky, with their Irish heritage, counted as aliens too.

 

Steve wanted so badly to say that he wasn’t ready to handle this, this wasn’t his fight, this wasn’t his job, but everyone around him kept pointing at the star on his chest and the stripes up his torso and thinking: that’s Captain America. He’ll save the day. It didn’t matter that Erksine hadn’t made him to fight aliens. He made him to amplify the good he already had, and frankly, Steve was finding out  that that good has nearly run out.

 

After the conference, Bucky still didn’t want to talk to him and Steve was very nearly getting ready to lose his temper on every person on the helicarrier. Steve crouched by Bucky and spoke at him quietly, as Tony and Banner continued to work to find the tesseract. Steve ignored them completely until he heard Bruce yelp in pain. He turned on a dime and stared at Tony uncomprehendingly. “Are you out of your mind?” He was wielding something that was faintly electric looking, and Banner was rubbing his arm as he tried to work out why he’d just been zapped in the first place. “You’re putting everyone on this ship in danger.” Bucky had looked up at the gasp as well, and Steve could feel him watching with agonizing attention as the scene unfolded.

 

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have even come on board if I couldn’t handle…pointy things.” Banner said, shaking his head and getting back to work. Bucky tilted his head slightly his eyes followed the device in Tony’s hand, and Steve watched as he stood up and wandered towards him. He waved his fingers towards it, and Tony held it out for Bucky to take.

 

Steve couldn’t tell what the expression on his face was. If anything, he looked troubled. His too quick brain was going over any number of thoughts and ideas and none of them were happy. Stevie weaved in and out of Bucky’s feet as he walked forward. The puppy even started to chew on Bucky’s shoelaces again, though Bucky never did seem to notice or care to scold the dog for doing it. Tony glanced towards the Labrador, but didn’t comment. He stood patiently, and everyone was quiet as they watched Bucky try to work out just what he’d poked Banner with. Eventually he tapped his finger to the prong, and jumped as it zapped him.

 

“You all right?” Steve asked him cautiously. Bucky glanced back and waved his hand towards him. He walked over and Bucky immediately jabbed it into his side. “Hey, knock it off.” Bucky poked at him again and Steve caught his wrist in a quick swat. “Knock it off.” He snapped. Bucky released the tool and let it clatter to the floor, where Stevie immediately bumped it with his nose. Banner crouched and shooed the pup away before he could zap himself. He stood awkwardly just outside the tableau, not seeming to know what to do with his hands.

 

“You talk to everyone that way, or just your friends?” Tony asked when the awkward pause grew to be too much. Steve glared at him.

 

“Leave it alone.”

 

“Seriously? It was a joke, you gotta lighten up.”

 

“And you need to start taking things seriously.”

 

“I can’t, you clearly have that angle covered.” Tony squared his shoulders. “Kid was making a joke-”

 

“He’s not a kid!”

 

“Steve!” Bucky gripped his arm tight and Steve ground to a halt. He drew in a long slow breath of air, before letting it out in a slow stream.

 

“What are you working on?” he asked, forcing his voice to come out calm and level.

 

He shouldn’t have asked. The response wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Tony was spying on SHIELD, and even Banner thought that something was wrong with this mission. Steve didn’t need to look back to confirm that Bucky wasn’t following him when he marched out. It hurt, but he was getting used to disappointment.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Steve was wrong.

 

He wasn’t used to disappointment.

 

Not yet.

 

But he was getting there.

 

Seeing the HYDRA weapons on deck, burrowed away in the basement of the helicarrier where he might not have looked if not for Tony and his ridiculous version of ethics, tore at him in a way that he hadn’t felt in years. Decades even, he laughed as he considered the fact that he’d been sleeping peacefully for far too long. He’d give anything to go back to sleep now. He wanted nothing more than to leave this world completely and feign death until heaven finally took him.

 

He’d like to think he’d go to heaven even after all this time. He was a good soldier and a good Catholic. He’d like to think that God would welcome him home. Still, there was always room for failure.

 

Steve crushed his fingers around the barrel of the gun and had to force himself to breathe steadily. He’d come back from the dead and had been marching to the beat of Fury’s drum because he’d promised this was what he’d helped to make. Peggy and Howard had built SHIELD to be the kind of organization that would do good in the world.

 

They were building weapons out of the tesseract. They were doing everything that Steve had worked so hard to destroy. They were just another group of extremists, just like Schmidt and just like HYDRA. The only difference was that these people were homegrown.

 

Steve threw the gun back into the crate so hard something broke. He had been foolish. He’d thought that he’d been with the good guys all along. He’d donned the costume again. He’d gotten back into the world. He’d let Bucky get terrorized. He’d – he’d done everything they asked of him, and it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.

 

I want to go home. He’d told Bucky that weeks ago, and he meant it to this day. This world wasn’t meant for him. He’d never fit in here, and he was losing his grip on everything that he held dear. He was a weapon that was being fired in whatever direction his superiors saw fit, and that wasn’t good enough. He didn’t like having all the information kept from him, and he certainly didn’t like how he never seemed to get a handle on any of it.

 

He took hold of the gun again and this time brought it as evidence to the lab. He was sick and tired of the games. He was sick of being jerked around. He and Bucky were leaving if they didn’t start getting some straight answers. Maybe he’d buy a bike and they’d ride it until the road ran out. Well, a car now. They had Stevie after all.

 

The point was: Captain America should be retired. The world didn’t need him anymore. He was done.

 

Steve opened the door to Banner’s lab to find Fury and the scientists in the middle of an argument. Bucky stood behind them, expression tense as he pressed the back of his hand against his mouth. His eyes kept darting around the room and he looked over towards Steve uncomfortably. “Steve-”

 

Steve threw the gun onto the table. “Phase 2 is SHIELD uses the cube to make weapons.” Bucky started to whine a quiet high-pitched noise, and immediately the argument with Fury intensified. Thor and Natasha arrived not long afterwards and it became only more chaotic. Stevie barked at them all, growling and yapping at every person who wasn’t paying attention.

 

“What are we, a team?” Banner asked, holding his hand out to span the room. “No, no no. We’re a chemical mixture that makes chaos. We’re…we’re a time bomb.” Steve had never heard something more accurate in his life. This was it. They were done. Fury could have his own fun with his own soldiers. Steve was finished.

 

“You need to step away,” Fury said, still trying to tone down the situation.

 

“Why shouldn’t the guy let off a little steam?” Tony asked, patting Steve’s shoulder like they were friends. They were anything but. Steve smacked his hand away and glared at him.

 

“You know damn well why, back off.”

 

“Oh I’m starting to want you to make me.” Tony growled. Bucky whined louder behind them, but Steve didn’t glance over to see what was wrong. He knew what was wrong. All of this nonsense.

 

“Yeah, big man in a suit of armor. Take that off, what are you?” he hissed furiously.

 

“Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.” Steve’s fists clenched at his sides.

 

“I know guys with none of that worth ten of you.”

 

“And I’ve seen how you treat them.” Tony replied shortly. “You want everyone to be a hero, what like you? You’re a laboratory experiment, Rogers. Everything special about out came out of a bottle – and you just reached your half-life.” Steve saw red. His hand shot out and caught Tony by the throat and everyone jumped in surprise as he struggled to regain his composure. He wasn’t squeezing. Not really. His fingers locked around Tony’s neck, but didn’t apply any pressure. Tony’s hand went to try to pull him off, but it wasn’t until he managed to take a few breaths that Steve finally forced himself to let go.

 

“Put on the suit,” he ground out. “Let’s go a few rounds.”

 

“Bucky don’t touch that.” Steve’s head whipped to the left. Natasha’s call had created a temporary ceasefire for all of their arguments. They all stared dumbly as Bucky’s fingers reached out towards Loki’s scepter sitting on the Banner’s table. He ignored them completely and Steve shot a hand out just as his fingers made contact with the blue jewel at the center.

 

Light flashed brightly through the room, accented by sirens that wailed loudly as the ship was rocked by a fierce explosion. The scepter went flying in one direction even as the floor gave out beneath them. Banner and Natasha fell into the belly of the ship, Thor and Fury went flying one way, Bucky the other, and Steve had to toss himself on Tony to keep him from disappearing in all the chaos. Someone over the still intact communication system shouted that they lost an engine.

 

“Put on the suit!” Steve ordered Tony even as he sat up and scanned the area for Stevie and Bucky. Tony’s startled but urgent ‘yep’ barely registered as smoke filled the room.

 

“Bucky!?” Steve pushed himself to his feet and ran towards Bucky’s last location. He was curled on the floor, both hands pressed against his ears and knees drawn to his chest. He was breathing erratically, but was entirely unharmed as he scooted backwards underneath Banner’s workstation. Stevie was right there with him, whining high-pitched puppy sounds of terror as another explosion rocked the ship. “Bucky, look at me. I need you to look at me.” Steve called as he placed his hands on Bucky’s knees and forced him to peer upwards. “I need to help them fix the ship. Stay here. Do not move.” Bucky nodded frantically. His eyes remained closed and he was shivering, but he at least nodded his head. “I’ll be back soon. You’re going to be fine.”

 

The ground shook warningly beneath them and Steve clenched his teeth. He was never flying again after this. Pushing himself to his feet he rushed from the lab, listening as reports came in of an enemy ship that had started to board the helicarrier. Natasha’s out of breath report came in that the Hulk was unleashed, and Thor swiftly replied he’d handle it. It was mayhem. No one had any idea what they were meant to do, and even Steve felt woefully unprepared for handling this particular mess.

 

Steve raced to the first engine room. The wall had been stripped back, creating a hole in the side of the helicarrier. Steve could see the damaged engine and all the debris that had clogged it completely; just beyond that were clouds and water. Chaos. Far too much chaos.  Steve clung onto the sides of the helicarrier as he carefully approached. “Stark, I’m here,” he called out, though he had no idea what he was meant to do.

 

This technology was more than beyond him. Bucky used to tease him for never effectively being able to work the stove properly in his own time, let alone these fancy new age appliances. He used to laughloudly whenever Steve somehow pressed the wrong buttons on the microwave, and without saying a single thing other than Steve’s name - Bucky had made it clear he was mocking Steve’s every move.

 

Stark arrived in his suit and yammered immediately in technical speak that Steve couldn’t even begin to attempt to translate. He tried to work out what he was saying and eventually gave up. “Speak English!” Steve commanded, a touch of desperation driving him to be helpful. He didn’t know what to do. He was meant to be on a battlefield fighting an obvious enemy. Making machines work had never been his forte. Destroying them, however, he could do just fine.

 

Bullets snapped past his head and Steve ducked and rolled. He reached back for his shield and threw it forwards, not even looking to see where it was going before it came ricocheting back. He caught it on its rebound and stared at the men in black kevlar suits that had started to take umbrage to their presence. Tony kept barking out instructions and Steve followed them as best he could, tugging wires and cords on commands even as he struggled to not get shot.

 

I promised him he wouldn’t fall again. Steve thought as he snatched a gun from one of the fallen soldiers and stumbled back to the lever Tony had instructed him to babysit. I promised him he wouldn’t fall. He’d get this plane back in the air if it was the last thing he did. He wouldn’t let Bucky sit through another crash. He’d get them flying again, and he’d never take Bucky back in the air. They were done after this. They were done.

 

It was time to retire the jersey.

 

More bullets sailed overhead. He ducked and fired as best he could, knowing that tactically his position was worthless. He could feel heat simmering through his costume, sparks of pain jolted through his arms, and he knew that he was taking fire. The hits weren’t bad, though, and the bullets didn’t penetrate the fiber. It wasn’t quite as useless as Steve had initially supposed, which was good because this was exactly the kind of fight he’d been hesitant to try it out in.

 

Peggy’s version of shoot first and then compliment the strength of her target wasn’t quite his preferred method of trial and error. It seemed to be the only method that he was ever using, though. A blast knocked him off his feet, and Steve hissed as he tumbled. Distracted! The ground slid from underneath him and he scrambled desperately for some kind of handhold. One hand snapped out and skated across the metal grating he’d been standing on. Not good enough.

 

He was falling, falling, falling. Steve’s hands made one last-ditch effort to cling desperately. He gasped as he clutched at the wires that had been torn out from something. In his ear he could hear Tony asking for the lever to be pulled, and he grit his teeth. “Little busy…” he gasped out, clawing back to the plane with every ounce of strength he had in him. There were startled shouts coming from the ship above him, and he could feel his hands slipping.

 

“Steve!” He looked up and stared dumbly at the sight of Bucky Barnes leaning down towards him. One hand was outstretched, the other clutching tightly to the metal floor. “Steve!”

 

“Bucky-”

 

“Take my hand!” Steve forced his arm upwards and his palm clasped around Bucky’s wrist. He pulled and strained, and Bucky forced his weight backwards. He clutched the side of the helicarrier with every ounce of strength he had within him, and Steve went with it until his chest hit the ground and he could scramble upwards towards the lever.

 

“The-the lever-” He gasped, and Bucky turned on his heel to see what Steve was referencing. Steve could hear Tony’s increasingly more anxious voice asking him for help. He needed to help. Steve needed to get there. He was made to help. A good man. That’s what he was supposed to be. He had to. He had to.

 

Bucky moved forwards. Bullets snapped all around him, and the breath left Steve’s lungs as he watched Bucky give the lever a mighty jerk. He could hear Tony’s shout of pain and the twisted crunch of metal as everything bounced in his head. Another bullet sailed past Bucky’s ear and Steve turned to see his assailant. The man was taking aim. Bucky was still standing clear in view. He didn’t have time to move. He’d never get out of the way in time-

 

The gunman flew backwards as a repulser blast exploded on his chest. Tony flew in out of nowhere, beaten and bruised badly. His suit looked like it had been through a meat grinder. He looked down at Steve and Steve shuddered as he realized how close he’d come to losing them both. He didn’t even like Tony, but the idea of letting Howard’s son die was inconceivable. Bucky’s knees gave out underneath him and Steve crawled towards him.

 

“Bucky?” He asked, and his friend tilted his head over to look at him. The side of his head was bleeding badly, and his whole body was shaking violently. “You all right?”

 

“I-I’m fine,” Bucky replied, and Steve felt his lungs freeze. Bucky was talking. His shout earlier hadn’t processed in the least, but now that they were sitting on solid ground (somewhat at least), the realization was too much.

 

“I’m fine too, you know, in case anyone was wondering,” Tony offered. He was bent over his knees, and his mask slid up as he rubbed a hand over the armor protecting his ribs. Steve wondered how banged up he’d gotten in the propeller. “Having trouble with new-age attack dogs, Cap?”  

 

“I had ‘em on the ropes,” Steve replied, the familiar words slipping out without thought. Bucky’s lips turned up in a weary smile.

 

“You always do.” He tilted his head to look back at the gaping hole out into space. Then, his eyes fluttered shut and he pitched to one side.

 

“Bucky? Bucky?” Steve caught him just before he hit the ground. He was unconscious, and the blood around his head only seemed to fall faster. Tony moved closer, crouching down between them and the door, and Steve realized numbly that he was shielding them should anyone else come in with a machine gun.

 

“Cap, his side…” Steve’s eyes dropped to see what Tony was talking about, and he stared at the blood that was accumulating there too. His dark t-shirt had covered the bulk of it, but now that Steve was looking, there were other wounds skittering across Bucky’s flesh. His skin was torn slightly where it had been shredded against glass. That was healing relatively quickly, and wasn’t much of a concern at all. But there had been bullets in Bucky’s body that Steve hadn’t so much as noticed in the chaos of Tony’s miraculous rescue. Serum or no, Bucky had never stood a chance against the guns that had fired at him, protected only by a thin wrap of cotton and two dog tags that dangled uselessly over his heart.

 

“No, no, no, no. Bucky. Bucky wake up. Bucky-” Steve didn’t know where to press down. Jim was the one who handled the medical issues, and there were so many people dead and wounded around the ship, and-and Jim was dead and-and-and-

 

Coulson is down - Fury informed them promptly, and Steve knew he was dying again. His heart was sending electric jolts down his spine. He couldn’t breathe. He clutched at Bucky’s body and couldn’t breathe. They called him.

 

“Move.” Tony shoved Steve out of the way, applying more strength than Steve thought the suit could maintain as he knocked Steve back several inches. Tony’s hands reached down and he lifted Bucky upright. “Where’s the nearest team - Barnes’s full of holes that need plugging.” Steve needed to work to get to his feet. His legs were like jelly beneath him. His body wasn’t working right. It hadn’t worked right since the day Erksine’s experiment was declared a success. He’d spent twenty four years a wimpy asthmatic and now his body was considered perfect and he wanted nothing more than to return to being that asthmatic. That was a kind of pain that he was used to. The adrenaline crashes that came at the end of every fight, the overburdened anxiety that seemed to mock him with each step, the heartbreak that had come after every mission he did: he could do without it all. His body, and his life, was all wrong.

 

Steve wanted nothing more than to turn back the clocks, and as Tony shot away, literally flying as fast as he could to the nearest medical team, Steve wondered if Bucky would still be alive if he’d never become Captain America. He wondered if he would have died in Zola’s cell, and if he would at least have been at peace.

 

It was only after he collapsed four feet from that red lever that saved Tony’s life, did Steve wonder what happened to Bucky’s dog, and why he wasn’t with him.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Bucky was dying. Again. Fury showed him the video. Showed him how Bucky hadn’t stayed where he was supposed to. How Loki had come for his staff and Stevie had barked at him for getting too close to Bucky. How when Loki drew closer still, Stevie had actually bitten his ankle and had been kicked clear across the room for it. How Bucky had shouted and gone to avenge his dog, only to be blasted in the chest for his efforts. How Bucky’s head had snapped against the edge of one of Banner’s desks, and Loki had left just as he was struggling to push himself back up. How, with blood streaming down his face and confusion coursing through his body he overheard someone shout that Captain America and Iron Man were trying to fix the main propeller, but were starting to take fire. And later, Steve watched as Bucky ignored the gunmen that had kept Steve pinned down, and threw himself into the fight against them. He was shot no less than five times, and when he’d finally collapsed at Steve’s side: his body had simply had enough.

 

Steve sat outside of the med-bay, reeling from the events of the past few hours. Coulson was dead. Bucky was dying. Stevie, the poor little puppy that was far too much like him, was battered in Steve’s arms. The dog mewled quietly as Steve stroked his soft fur. His left forepaw was badly broken, but there certainly wasn’t a vet in the nearby vicinity, and Steve couldn’t do anything for him.

 

The abridged history of Captain America should be re-written to say: Captain America, the man who saved a few and failed many. He couldn’t save his best friend. He couldn’t even save his dog. “It’s going to take time,” Natasha told him quietly. “He’s going to be all right, and you’ll all go home, but it’s going to take time to heal.”

 

“Do we know where Loki’s going next?” Steve asked, because if anything came of this awful day, it was that he wanted Loki’s head on a spike next to Schmidt’s.

 

“I’m going to talk to Barton now,” Natasha replied. “Get some rest, Cap…and breathe. He’s going to be fine.” Five bullet holes. One through his intestines. One through his lung. Bucky was going to be many things, but fine wasn’t one of them.  “And Cap? Go for a walk. Sitting there isn’t going to make you feel any better.”

 

If anyone thought anything about Captain America wandering the helicarrier, covered in blood and holding an unconscious puppy in his arms, no one said a word. He found out about the Hulk flying after an airman, he heard about Thor being dropped from Loki’s cage, and he wandered to the scenes of the crime just to see it for himself. How had things gotten this bad? How could the future be so disorganized?

 

Tony was standing by the bloodstain Coulson had left behind, and Steve could see the anger and pain that was radiating off the man. Nothing would make it better. It was his first loss. It wouldn't be the last. The longer he did this kind of work, the more failures he’d have under his belt. That was how the story always went. There were no happy endings for people like them.

 

“We are not soldiers,” Tony insisted. And that was the problem wasn’t it? There was no discipline. There was no chain of command. There was no leadership, or group bonding. They’d been a disaster waiting to happen, and it had happened. They deserved this. He supposed this was their crash course through boot camp, their one day hell-week.

 

At the end of the day, after all of this horror and trauma, the point was they were never going to be a team. They were never going to work together. Not until they wanted to actually work together. Not until they shared common ground.

“Son of a bitch.” Tony cursed as he realized the truth behind Loki’s plan, and the direction they all needed to go in. “You ready to get this bastard?” he asked just before he hurried back to his suit.

 

Steve held Stevie closer to his chest. Captain Rogers? Bucky’s doctor asked him over his comm link. “Yes?” he asked as he kept eye-contact with Tony. Sergeant Barnes is stable. He’s being moved to recovery. “I’ll be right there,” he promised, then nodded to Tony. “I’ll get us a ride.”  

 

“There’s more than one person on this ship who wants to see that bastard dead. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding at least one or two to help.” Tony suggested casually.

 

He wasn’t wrong. Within five minutes Steve had deposited Stevie onto the foot of Bucky’s bed for safekeeping and had Natasha and her formerly brain-washed companion, Clint Barton, jumping at the chance to getting rid of Loki and his army for good. They were all angry. Steve could get behind that, he’d been angry since he woke up. He was more than happy to be angry with someone else too.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

After the Battle for New York.

 

After Tony had sent a nuclear bomb into outer-space. (And Steve was still trying to fathom how the future managed to twist itself into enough of a frenzy that deploying nuclear bombs on home soil was an okay idea. Though perhaps with a certain bit of irony, it was fitting that Tony should send the bomb his father had helped create straight out of the earth’s orbit. They didn’t need those things here).

 

After they’d cleaned up what they could, fixed what they were able to fix, and collapsed in a restaurant that by all rights should be closed to eat food that Steve couldn’t even taste he was so tired.

 

After Loki was muzzled and imprisoned.

 

After SHIELD told the world council to go fuck themselves.

 

After the media spun a circus.

 

After the cops of New York were acclaimed as heroes once more.

 

After.

 

After.

 

The Avengers returned to the helicarrier, and Steve fell into a chair by Bucky’s bed. Someone came in to tell him that they’d checked Stevie over. They’d have to remove his leg. It was too damaged to be saved, and it would never heal right. When they brought the puppy back, Stevie whimpered in pain in his lap and he held the dog to his chest and told him that he was a good boy. He wasn’t a menace. He wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t a devil. He was a good boy. He’d tried to protect Bucky. He’d tried to fight a god in order to defend his favorite human, and he was such a good boy.

 

Stevie slept with him, and together they took turns keeping vigil over Bucky’s bedside. Steve left only long enough to see Thor off with Loki. He wished his companion well, and he watched as they disappeared in a blissful swirl of blue smoke and light.

 

Bucky slept onwards. The doctors assured Steve he was healing faster than anyone had any right to expect. His physical wounds were just red marks on skin, and his brain scans showed rapid improvement. “He has roughly seventy-five percent more functionality than he did when he first woke up,” they told him. Steve nodded his head. It didn’t matter. Until Bucky woke up, it didn’t matter.

 

And then.

 

And then.

 

Bucky woke up.

 

At first it was just a twitch of his fingers. A quiet inhale that was off-key from the rest of it. Steve looked up from where he’d been dozing and he watched as Bucky’s eyes moved under his lids. He watched as Bucky’s lips twisted and twitched on his face. He watched as consciousness seeped in and soon: his friend was staring back at him. “Steve?” he asked quietly.

 

“Yeah, yeah, Buck. It’s me.”

 

“Thought you were smaller.” Bucky told him, eyes closing slightly as a tired smile pulled up his face. Steve didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and so he settled for both. Tears slipped down his face as he pressed a hand to Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“I joined the army,” he said.

 

“Did we win?” Bucky asked, still tired, still hanging on the edge of sleep.

 

“Yeah, yeah we won.”

 

“Okay.” Stevie made a soft noise at Bucky’s side, and Bucky’s eyes opened wider as he tracked the dog. “Oh, oh Stevie, what’d you do to yourself?” He pet the puppy’s ears and ran a hand around the stitches that traced down his side.

 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Steve asked him, and Bucky’s nose scrunched up as he tried to think back through his thoughts.

 

“I…we were on a ship? And it was flying? But not a plane? And…” Bucky’s features froze. He blinked rapidly, and Steve held his breath as he waited for the shoe to drop.

 

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice was lethal, and he glared at him from the corner of his eye.

 

“Yes?”

 

“You seriously let me do handstands through Manhattan? You little punk!” Steve laughed. He couldn’t help it. He laughed. He laughed so hard that he had to take a few steps back so he could double over his stomach. His lungs hurt he laughed so hard. Bucky swatted him with a pillow and Stevie barked on his bed, and Steve couldn’t help but fall into hysterics that showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. “What the hell, Steve? I come to you in my time of need and that’s how you treat me?”

 

“But Bucky, you really wanted to do those handstands,” Steve tried, laughing harder and harder even as Bucky’s own mouth started to tilt upwards in amusement. He was still tired. He still had a long way to go before he was going to be completely better, but he was awake and aware. It was more than Steve had hoped for.

 

He settled the pillow back behind Bucky’s head and encouraged him to lay back down. “I’m still mad at you,” Bucky warned as he shifted into a more comfortable position. He pulled Stevie closer so he was hugging the puppy to his body, and the Labrador snuggled in like he was always meant to be there.

 

“You’re allowed,” Steve said gently.

 

“Steve…?” Bucky asked, forcing his eyes to stay open even though he was obviously exhausted.

 

“Yeah, Buck?”

 

“Are you okay?” They needed to talk about so much. If Bucky remembered it all, there were months worth of bad decisions that needed to be reexamined and considered. It went both ways. Bucky’s reaction to the future most likely needed to be handled again, and then there was the Avengers complication. Steve didn’t know what he was supposed to say.

 

He was still angry. He was still hurt. He was still heartbroken. He was everything he was before ten minutes ago. Only now he had Bucky, and that did change things. He wasn’t alone anymore. Someone understood. He wished Bucky didn’t have to understand, but a selfish part of him was happy that he did. They were together, just like they always had been.

 

“No,” Steve told Bucky honestly. “No, I’m not okay, but…I can be, I think.” Bucky nodded against his pillows.

 

“You can be,” he swore as sleep took him. Just as his eyes fell closed, a pigeon fluttered passed the window. Steve watched it as it flitted about, and for the first time: he understood what Bucky saw in them.

 

Birds flew, and when they fell it was with purpose. It was a controlled fall that wasn’t a screaming descent into madness. Steve liked that, and for the first time since they woke up, Steve saw things making a change for the better. So like the bird outside, he spread his wings, turned up his head, and pulled out from the dive he’d been in since the beginning. The ground was so close now, and he was ready to glide to the bottom.

 

And tomorrow, if he felt up to it, maybe he’d start to reach for the sky again. Right now, though, he was tired and at peace. He folded his arms on Bucky’s bed, and he went asleep. His dreams were filled with images of the sky and the feeling of wind on his face. This time, no one was falling. This time, the dreams stayed as dreams, and the nightmares were put on hold for one more day. There, the world spun onwards and all the pigeons flew.

**  
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**Author's Note:**

> Have a prompt? Just want to say hi? Find me on tumblr: falcon-fox-and-coyote.tumblr.com


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